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Candles and Matches

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PART IV of Lost Romantics
If you looked at me now,
i wonder what you'd thinkk.
im no different, than i ever was,
just the broken down wreck,
that the train leaves behind,
when it cant slow down.

I wonder if you see that,
the girl inside, needs you more,
than a dancer wants to dance,
or than a musician would ever play.
I'm needing you like a blank staff,
silently begging for notes.

you've been my toy soldier,
while i've spun in circles again,
singing the same endless tune,
starting to fade in and out.
yet you stand there watching,
winding me back up to full speed,
as i begin again, to try to impress.

she feel like a fool, a dance for two,
performed by one sad lonely child.
but her story's the one now told,
not excuse shes been giving him.
But hes actually sitting down watching,
now knowing where he went wrong,
as his ballerina performs,
unaware he still cares beneath it all.

Hes been feeling hopeless,
wondering where he ever went wrong.
But together wasn't so perfect,
they felt the love & indifference,
she was just a child of exaggeration,
while he was a man of the destructional site.
Two paired making a depressing tangle,
of burnt out candles and matches.

I dont want to be that girl anymore,
living the lie i make for myself to believe.
I want to just feel this music live in me,
and not feel the burning of my past.
Because im not perfect, but neither is he,
im no exceptional beauty or genius.
But i want to fly to the one who knows,
how to dance this tango the right way.

I want to look into his eyes,
as that candle puddles wax dreams for me,
and lay on the floor and not care,
that i've got nowhere real to go.
I want to open a window,
letting my death wishes blow away.
Knowing they are no longer,
a mistake i want to make in my life.

Maybe youre not my genius,
or my answer to every question.
But youre the made up reality,
that i had to form him to be.
Your love for me is much grander,
than Mozarts latin composition of life.
You make my heart soar to new heights,
higher than the sky i imagined.

but im just the same poor girl,
you saw right from the start of things.
I may lay on the floor in black dresses,
crying tears of the years ive killed.
But under this makeup and design,
nothing has changed what you loved most.
Im still the same composer whose notes,
have escaped the paper & gone to my head.

So i'll be flying like a bird in the air,
on the next flight home to you.
To face one last rejection,
or to say hello to the part untouched,
of our hollowed out tree we use,
to store the secrets of our past.
To get a chance to light the last spark,
before love finally burns out for me.





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